Helen Oyeyemi - The Icarus Girl

Tilly stiffened and stood still.

“Safer! So Shivs is your sister! So you’re scared of me!” she blazed.

Jess halted, uncertain whether or not to retract, and whether she should draw closer. She didn’t want to. Something was happening to the air around TillyTilly; there was some sort of breeze sticking to her outline, as if she was drawing it in.

“I’m going to phone Shivs back,” Jess faltered, “and I’m going to—”

“Tell her it was me!” TillyTilly screeched, running at Jess with a whoosh, ribbons trailing. Jess, frightened, backed up quickly, but Tilly stopped short a few centimetres away and pushed

at the space between them with her fingers until Jess felt it actually cave in.

TillyTilly smiled grimly when the screen of Sarah Harrison’s computer monitor was slashed across as parts of it fell out with a soft cracking sound. The air filled with sickly wisps of smoke, and Jess could see an orange fizzle starting somewhere near the back of the computer. She let out a soft whimper (Oh, trouble, I’m in trouble again) and TillyTilly said to her from somewhere amidst the thickening grey, “You’re scared of me. . good!”

When all the fuss had calmed down, Jess, unwilling to take the blame for breaking the computer, told her mum that it was TillyTilly who’d done it. Sarah groaned, but she was not as angry as she could have been, since her files were all backed up on a series of neatly labelled disks, but she was extremely annoyed at the expense of having to buy a new computer.

“I thought I heard running around upstairs! Well, what on earth did she DO to it? I don’t think it can be repaired.”

Jess looked down at her shoes, shamefaced. She had no reply to all this.

Her mother frowned and said, “You’re NOT to let your friends go into my study, and in fact, once you’ve found out Tilly’s mum’s name or her telephone number, you’re not to have Tilly over here, all right?”

Jess, nodding glumly, was inwardly appalled. How was she supposed to stop TillyTilly when she could do anything that she wanted?

It was nearing the end of Monday afternoon, and Jess was sitting in the very middle of the sofa watching the last few minutes of Count Quackula . Her mother was upstairs in her study installing the new computer that she’d marched out and bought that day, and Jess had already finished her jam-and-cheddar sandwich. She clutched the cushions on either side of her in preparation for the end music, which she always found scary, even though she knew it was silly to. It was the lightning splintering the skies above the silhouette of the castle, and the eerie, insane cackle that did it. Controlling her desire to whip around and check behind the sofa (just in case), she began laughing quietly to console herself, an edge of terror in her laugh as the credits for the cartoon rolled. Then she jumped as light flooded the room. It was her father, whom she had not heard come into the house, and as he sat down beside her with a knowing smile, his arm stretched out along the back of the sofa as if he’d been there all day, he said, “Worrying yourself with Count Quackula. Again. .”

Jess buried her face into a cushion and groaned. “Daddyyyyy—”

She stopped as her ears were flooded with the familiar buzzing sound

(hmmmmmmmmzzzz)

and got onto her knees on the sofa, peering over it until she could see — at first blurrily but then in sharp relief — TillyTilly stretched out on the floor, halfway into the sitting room and half out into the passageway. She looked as if she had fallen there, silently.

Her head was flopping listlessly to one side and her limbs were spread limply, looking more as if they surrounded her than belonged to her. Jess, embarrassed, tried not to look at her pink knickers. After the initial throb of panic at seeing Tilly, Jess stared for a second longer when Tilly didn’t get up but continued to gaze impassively at the ceiling. Looking up at the ceiling herself, only to find nothing there, Jess began to feel afraid for her friend. What was the matter with her? And how could she be getting poorly in the same way that Jess did?

Knightmare was on now, and as Jess glanced at her father to see if he had noticed anything, she found that he was staring vacantly at the television with his mouth half open in an oddly unfinished expression. Torn between wondering what was the matter with him and what was the matter with Tilly, she looked back at Tilly, willing her to get up. Finally she could wait no longer and scrambled over the sofa. She crawled cautiously towards the still figure spread out in front of her, but when she reached TillyTilly her eyes were closed, and Jess had to bend close to her face in order to hear the halting cycle of her breath. Jess briefly thought of things like hospitals or the GP before dismissing them. Instead, she enfolded the other girl in her arms and pulled her upright, into a sitting position. TillyTilly was light — so light it was like holding cotton wool. Or nothing at all. But Jess was still scared of her: scared of the ice that lingered in the touching, and of the glint in her hidden eyes. Nevertheless, she pulled TillyTilly closer to her, thinking that somehow her own warmth might make her better. Cradling the back of Tilly’s head with one hand, her fingers brushed one of Tilly’s spongy puffs of hair as she whispered, “TillyTilly, what’s the matter? How comes you’re all poorly?”

TillyTilly didn’t reply, but shifted a little and squeezed her lips together as if trying to suck in the very air.

“I didn’t mean it when I said you were mean,” Jess said tremulously. No, she couldn’t be a baby about it; she had to think of something. Think! She was struck by an idea. “Are you pretending, to scare me? Because of the fight?” she asked, moving back so that she could watch Tilly’s face. No, her skin was too ashen, almost as if smeared with dark grey face paint. Suddenly distracted, Jess gazed curiously for a moment at the back of her father’s motionless, blondy-brown head. The flickering of the TV screen seemed slowed down, or speeded up, or both, since she couldn’t make any sense of the dialogue, or even of the image. Jess was suddenly aware of a distortion of time, a twisting that alarmed her because Tilly had never done this so obviously before. It was unnerving.

She turned back to TillyTilly, whom she had inadvertently let flop back down to the carpet. She tightened her grip. What would happen without TillyTilly, and where, now, would Jess see something of herself? No, she couldn’t think about herself right now, Tilly was ill—

(Oh, she’s mean, oh, she’s my sister, oh TillyTilly don’t go. . don’t GO, don’t be sick like this, you’re not supposed to hurt.)

Could a person survive losing two twins?

It was too, too miserable being a child and not being able to know these things or believe in a future change. So strange, being powerless to do anything for her own happiness.

Now they were both crying, and Jess was startled because she had thought at first that it was only her. She wanted to wipe her face so that her tears didn’t drop onto her and Tilly’s clothes the way that they were. Tilly’s eyes were still closed, but she was sobbing so hard that her body was shaking in Jess’s arms. Then Tilly drew a great sigh and fell quiet, breathing almost noiselessly. She opened her eyes and motioned to Jess to let her go, and eased herself backwards on her hands.

“I don’t want to be like this,” she told Jess, letting her hands fall into her lap. Her head was drooping distressingly, as if she couldn’t hold it up.

Jess sniffled and wiped at her eyes.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it? Because I’ve been a bad sister.”